A flower in the midst of blossoming, he flourishes for the first time. Breaking through rubble cast upon him by thoughtless passerbyers, he is finding his colors. He reaches for the sun, embracing it’s warmth and nourishment. He grows now of his own accord, his petals unfurling to share his brightness with the world. Befriending the bees and smiling at the hummingbirds, his enthusiasm spreads far beyond him. In a past life he was a rainbow, bringing avidity to all who beheld his ethereal reflection. His passion fuels his pigmentation. With each incarnation he becomes more chromatic and illuminate, fervor imprinting his physique. A shadow, a breath, a rainbow, now a flower. One day he will make himself into a work of art. A stain glass window.
The girl sits at the counter, lightly chatting with the girl next to her who is spreading jam on her toast. They are from two different countries, two different backgrounds, yet somehow their life decisions have led them here to this moment.
They talk about light things, such as tea preferences, as well as slightly more in depth topics, such as why the first is vegetarian and an in a nutshell run down of her basic philosophy. Ultimately it doesn’t matter specifically what was discussed, but the feelings that they expressed and experienced.
That feeling that is at the core of all language and communication., the desire to be understood and to understand other people. No matter how it begins, all anyone wants is for their voice to be heard, for what they are saying to matter, to not just be hurtling through space alone yelling into a deaf void. We want to connect and be understood. Everything the girl does is an effort to find a kindred spirit.
She has this unwavering faith in the kindness of strangers. She knows exactly how much to expect of someone to push them to be better without pushing too far. She is not nieve or ignorant, she simply chooses not to give up. She calls people out from a place of love. She truly cares and that’s why she’s yelling. She is witty and intelligent and can spar with the best of them. She is living her life with no regrets, fully aware of the mistakes she’s made and owning them, using them to propel her forward instead of letting them pull her back. She rides the winds of life actively letting them take her to where she needs to be and beyond. She may not know exactly what she wants, but she doesn’t let that halt her journey. She is leisurely striding with full confidence down the path of life and pausing to smell the roses. She is here for the fun of the journey, knowing wherever she ends up that she fully enjoyed the ride. She is the strongest cup of coffee with a splash of sweet cream. She is the breath of fresh air after you’ve been underwater just a touch too long. She is the cool summer breeze that gives you goose bumps. She is the pastel chalk flowing smoothly effortlessly into the sidewalk, creating sharp saturated lines.
The girl sends the message. On the surface she is discussing books vs. their movies. But this is just words. They mean nothing. We have so much in common! One text really says. Omg we are so alike! We are like the same person! This girl, who spent most of her life never truly connecting to anyone has met her duplicate. They don’t agree on everything and they like different things, but their thought processes are incredibly similar, around the 95% zone. One look and one knows how the other will react. This is an amazing comfort. She is not truly alone. Yet at the same time it is incredibly innerving. Maybe she is wrong. Maybe she doesn’t know this other person that well. She is terrified that one day the other girl will scream
YOU THINK YOU KNOW ME BUT YOU DON’T
She can never be sure. She cautions herself against assumin she knows the other girl. Yet her texts scream
ACKNOWLEDGE HOW SIMILAR WE ARE
AGREE WITH ME
He stands. One of only three in the giant study floor. Two are sitting, trying to muster up the will to write papers. But he is standing. Dancing with big round headphones on his head. He is free. He is happy.
I BELIEVE IN A THING CALLED LOVE
They all giggle. She is so happy for him. She remembers back to before and how unhappy he was. How he struggled to be himself. Looking back at old pictures makes this new found reality so stark. There was no fire in his eyes. The smiles were forced. He wasn’t allowed to be himself, forced into being to picture perfect idea of what he should be. But he has cast away those chains. HE has walked through fire, and he is reborn. HE is so close to being who he truly is. And he is free. And he is happy. And he is true. And he is pure. And she is ecstatic at how comfortable he is. She is happy because he is happy. A true empath. Both in harmony. He is smiling full force with the light of his new found fire in his eyes.
She sits on the end of the couch, her knees drawn up and her feet perched on the edge of the couch, a blanket strewn across her lap. She licks the tip of her finger to turn the page of the heavy red book that is placed open on her left thigh. Her dark wavy hair falls over her shoulder as she is leaning to the left. The hair on her right is tucked gently behind her ear. She gasps, scoots low in her seat, pulls the blanket over her head and hides behind her book, her glasses peeking out from the top of the book. She starts to explain an incident with passion. She is fire. She is excitement. She is beautiful. She is classic and calm and clever and so enthusiastic it makes your heart melt. She is so invested and she cares so much. Her eyes are pure moonshine and you can fall so easily for her. You can be with her and time stands still. She is everything. She is a goddess and you just want to bask in her light.
He sees the world in a slightly different shade than average society. He has removed several layers from the rose colored glasses, which allows him to always be one step ahead in the conversation. He understands the logic of the world’s systems. He knows how to play their games even when they don’t. He could take advantage if you wanted, but he chooses instead to poke at it and expose its weakness. He jests because he can see the more objective reality. He has a subtle confidence, gathering his fears and doubts and harnessing them to make himself better. He is complex and more than a simple string of letters and labels. He keeps you guessing, always offering new insights. He defies all judgements, able to both confirm and deny. He is the wind blowing over the ocean, creating crystal clear waves that wash gently over the sand.
She is an intensely sad person. She blames society for all of her problems, always assigning blame on everyone around her instead of acknowledging her own shortcomings. She espouses equality, but what she wants isn’t equality. She wants a complete reversal where she is on top and marginalizing those who marginalized her. She can’t even comprehend what true equality is. Everything is an eye for an eye. She can never forgive, or just let bygones be bygones. She sees every action as a personal attack done specifically to make her life harder. She can’t see that she is not everyone’s main thought. She refuses to accept that someone simply didn’t hear her hello. She only sees them purposefully ignoring her. Every word that comes out of her mouth is a double edge sword, laced with politeness and burning condemnation. Nothing she says is purely the words on her tongue, it’s the ice in her eyes and the fire in her tone. She is vindictive and small minded. Even when she is happy she is holding her breath, waiting for the catch. She can’t see from anyone’s perspective but her own. She is a black hole, drawing in all light and consuming it indefinitely to make herself bigger.
The lights dim. The music gets noticeably louder. You can feel the increase in volume deep down in your bones. The sound abruptly stops, and everyone in the room freezes. Time stands suspended in midair. The room collectively holds its breath in anticipation for the life force to be restored. A window is cracked and cigarettes are inhaled. There is an icy chill that reaches into the inner being of every person in the room. It is a blanket, lightly flowing over the group. Music swells and the heart beat jumps, the musical beat entwining with the heart beat and becoming one. There aren’t separate bodies, it’s all one. A body sharing a space, moving collectively. The pace slows, the words sing pure emotion and consumes the room. The American flag hanging upside down on the wall, lightly illuminated in the foreground. Even those on the fringes are a part of the overwhelming energy, pulsing along with the ever present heart. It’s a true collective. Differing backgrounds and lifetimes of decisions leading all these separate paths to cross, momentarily, in this point in time. Reality is not enough on its own.
They sit on opposite sides of the room, each buried in their own blanket with a book of plays in front of each of their faces. The one in the yellow sweater speaks softly.
Karen woke up from her coma.
The other, in a purple and grey sweater, responds relieved.
They continue reading. The one in the purple and grey sweater speaks.
Marry is beating the fucking shit out of people.
The other laughs and they continue reading. They are keeping each other updated on their respective plays. They are enjoying sharing their worlds. Their excitement is bright and luminous. It is sugar. It is green tea. It is soft and light and wonderful. It is pure happiness. The two women are beautiful. The two women are clever and intelligent. They are rays of sunshine. They are pure.